But Harry was glad when morning came, and happy indeed when next evening he found himself once more among the tree-clad mountains with the marsh far in the rear.
When he lay down to sleep that night he tried to think of the lake with its hundred isles, and of the feast of flowers, but even in his dreams he was haunted by the scenes he had recently passed through, and—
The Village in the Dismal Swamp.
Book Four—Chapter Two.
Weary Wanderings—Prisoner in a Savage Land—The Escape by Night—Down with Fever in the Marsh.
Nearly a whole year has passed away since the events described in last chapter, and the wayward, wandering Harry has seen many strange sights, had many a wild adventure, and been among many strange tribes and peoples.
He would hardly have travelled so far, he would have returned much sooner towards the east had he not been following up a will-o’-the-wisp. For again and again he was told by natives with whom he came in contact of white men who were held captive by kings of tribes, sometimes it would be to the north, at other times to the south or to the west.